The Family That Chooses You
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Hibbing 9-1-1 tag story: When Sam's injured and Dean is nowhere to be found, Jody steps into the gap. And she's not the only one. (Jody POV)


**The Family That Chooses You**  
 **K Hanna Korossy**

 _So, come across any monsters this week?_

Jody smiled at the text. She'd just been sitting down at her computer to write Donna, and it wasn't the first time the other woman seemed to read her mind and contact her first.

 _Do city budget cuts count?_ she texted back.

When she'd met Donna just a few weeks before, Jody had had to make an effort to play nice and not roll her eyes at everything the bubbly Stillwater sheriff said. If anyone had suggested then that the woman would become a real friend, let alone one of the closest—or, okay, _few_ —friends Jody had, she would've checked their blood alcohol level. That was before the two of them had taken out a pack of vampires with the Winchesters and, well, who knew she would have so much in common with a blonde fireball who never stopped smiling and said things like "okey-dokey"?

 _Oof. Pull out the big guns, why doncha?_

Jody snorted and started typing. _Coward._ And, _Was about to send that intel you—_

The phone rang in her hand, startling her. Unknown number and area code. So, not Lonnie calling for help at the station or the Winchesters calling for help in the field. Nothing else really interested her, but she found herself taking the call anyway, with that same curiosity that had led her into law enforcement in the first place.

"Sheriff Mills."

There was a pause that almost made her smirk; her title scared off a lot of telemarketers, which was fine by her. But then a woman spoke. _"I'm calling from Smith County Memorial Hospital—do you know a Sam Smith?"_

She almost made a joke about the singer before realization struck. _Sam._ Jody straightened in her seat. "Yes. Uh. He's my…" Nephew? That might be a problem if there was a legal issue. "…family," she finished, which was actually not wrong.

 _"You're listed as one of his ICEs—In Case of—"_

"I know what that is," Jody interrupted. Emergency contact. For when a patient wasn't able to give the info himself. "What about his…" Brother? Partner? Again, she was flying blind here. "Dean? Was anyone else with him?"

 _"No, ma'am. Dean Smith is listed as his primary ICE, but we've been unable to reach him. Mr. Smith was brought in alone and unconscious after an accident—would you be able to give us some information about him?"_

She was already reaching for her purse. "I'll do you one better—I'll be there in a few hours. Give me your address."

On her way to the airport she tried Dean herself several times, every call going straight to voicemail. So all that left her to think about was whether Sam was okay, and where the heck his big brother was.

00000

The arrangements to fly to Kansas—or actually Nebraska, the nearest big airport to Lebanon—would have taken the whole day and a ridiculous amount of money. She ended up calling in a favor instead, a retired cop with a pilot's license who would be free to take her in two hours. Jody didn't waste the time.

She called Alex first, who was clearly sorry to hear about Sam but didn't seem to mind that she'd be on her own for a while. Jody followed that up with two calls to friendly colleagues, asking them to keep an eye on the teen. Now she could concentrate on the Winchesters.

After failing to reach Dean, she'd texted Donna, who was already using her own law enforcement assets to find out what she could. Staked out in a corner of Sioux Falls Regional, Jody did her own due diligence, going down the short list of Winchester allies she had, both to inform and to question.

That Garth Fitzgerald sounded kinda stoned, but he also seemed worried and promised to put out feelers among other hunters, and Jody believed him.

Charlie Bradbury—a girl?—had a full voicemail box and no location Jody could find.

Castiel, no last name, who sounded…off somehow, said he was on his way but would take at least two days to get there.

Jefferson, Joaquin, Marco, and Rooney—all one-namers as well—had no idea what the Winchesters could be hunting, or at least would not tell her, and could she please lose their number now, thank you very much? But their concern had all seeped through, too.

The bunker's phone just rang and rang. The hospital answered her call, but would only say Sam was in surgery and stable for the moment.

Donna called back just as Jody was ready to start pulling out her hair.

 _"You're not gonna believe this—I think it really was an accident,"_ she said without preamble.

"You're kidding me."

 _"No sirree. House was on fire in Lebanon, nice residential street, nothing suspicious. Witnesses say Sam was passing by, took a gander, then stopped and ran in. He was on his way out with the elderly owner when the place blew up. Flames probably hit the gas line."_

Jody blinked. "No mention of Dean?"

 _"I don't think he was there. Get this—Sam was on a motorcycle!"_

The bunker garage. Jody hadn't seen it, but Dean had mentioned it contained a bunch of old vehicles, and that they sometimes used one when they had to split up.

So, both Dean and the Impala were AWOL.

 _"You want I should put out a BOLO on Black Beauty there?"_

Jody shook herself back into the conversation. "No. I don't think we're there yet, and if they find Dean and run him, we could be opening a whole new can of worms. But see if you can find anything on the car, okay? Speed cameras, citations, whatever." It was a long shot, but how exactly did you find someone who was officially dead?

" _How 'bout a trace on Dean's phone?"_

Donna was a smart cop, too. "I'll send you the info. Can you do that first?"

 _"You betcha."_ A pause, then Donna's ever-present cheer dropped. _"Jody…I'm sure they'll be okay."_

Jody pressed her lips together, then cleared her throat and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I bet you're right."

The Winchesters had survived far worse than this, after all, right?

00000

She'd fidgeted through the flight, then pulled out her badge to be first at the car rental counter. It still took way too long before she was striding through the hospital's front doors.

Her ICE credentials got her further than her badge this time. Next thing she knew, she was in a small, private waiting room with a doctor on the way.

With Sam not being in any kind of trouble—apparently hailed a freaking hero, in fact—she could claim him as her nephew now. And didn't have to hide her shock and dismay when the doctor filled her in.

Sam had been so close. He'd almost reached the front door, carrying the old man, when the house blew. The homeowner had suffered from smoke inhalation and a broken arm but was otherwise okay. Sam had taken the brunt of the explosion, the force catapulting him halfway across the yard. He had second-degree burns across his back, broken ribs and pelvis, serious head trauma, and, oh yeah, several pieces of shrapnel embedded in his back and one thigh, including a chunk of metal that had pierced his chest cavity and grazed a lung. With the blood loss and head injury, even though his physical prognosis was guardedly optimistic, they just weren't sure he'd ever wake up.

Jody had gone into the bathroom for a short, fierce cry, then demanded to see him.

"Oh, sweetie," was all she could manage at the sight of him. So many bandages and sheets and pillows propping him up on his side, and pale skin: a sea of white. His brown hair, what stuck out in a rooster comb over the bandage around his head, seemed to be the only color on him. She stroked the hair, then a scraped cheek, blinking back more tears. It was like seeing Owen again, in those final days, when there seemed to be more tubes and needles and machines than boy.

Sam didn't stir. His eyes already looked ringed and sunken, and she remembered again the hard knock he'd gotten just weeks before in Hibbing. How many head injuries could a guy get and keep ticking?

Jody traced down his arm to a limp hand—the doctor hadn't even mentioned that splint, but what was a broken finger to all the damage his body had taken?—and slid her fingers between his. His skin was warmer than hers, and she shivered.

She had to clear her throat again to speak.

"I don't know where Dean is, kiddo, but I'm going to find him and haul him back here, okay? So you hang in there for him, because if he comes back and finds you checked out on him…" It was meant to be a tease, but the words stuck in her throat. She remembered what Bobby had hinted at about that year Dean thought Sam was in Hell, the devastation in Sam's voice when he'd called to tell her Dean was gone. "Dean needs you," Jody said instead, squeezing the much larger hand. "He needs you to hold on."

There was no reaction. Sam's chest rose and fell in slow, shallow breaths, but there was no movement under his eyelids, no twitches of sleep. He was vacant.

Waiting, Jody chose to believe.

She sat there a few minutes longer, until she could pull away, take a breath, and stand. It was time to find that errant brother of his, so Sam could stop waiting and come on back.

00000

Easier said than done.

The bunker key had been in Sam's bagged belongings at the hospital, which was good because Jody thought she remembered the place was pretty much invisible and impenetrable otherwise. She was still pretty sure she wouldn't have found it at all if Dean hadn't driven her there himself one time.

It was eerily quiet when she entered. "Dean!" she called anyway, but already knew no one was home, even without all the unanswered calls.

The Impala hadn't been parked in front, and she finally found and checked the garage just in case, but it wasn't there, either. The kitchen and library showed no signs of interrupted use, and both the boys' beds were made. Maybe she lingered over the few pictures they had on display in their rooms, but no one was there to know. She poked through Dean's room and couldn't find any duffels of clothes _or_ weapons. Didn't mean they didn't keep all that in the car, but it was looking more and more likely that Dean had gone somewhere, and, unfortunately, only Sam knew where. There were no maps lying about, no convenient notepads with addresses scrawled on them, not even a message left brother to brother. Unless you counted the balled-up piece of paper she found under one of the library tables that simply said, "Jerk." It both made her smile, shaking her head, and choked her up.

Her phone rang, and Jody scrambled for it. Donna.

 _"Nothing on the car. I think his phone's on but in a dead zone—it's pinging somewhere in Arizona, but we can't get it much closer than that. And Arizona's not exactly a dinky little state."_

"Yeah." Jody sighed, looking around the empty bunker. "I've got nothing at their…home."

 _"How's Sam?"_ Donna asked quietly.

"Not good. But he'd be a whole lot better if Dean was here."

 _"What do ya think we should do?"_

 _We._ Donna had known her less than a month, had only spent a smattering of days with the Winchesters, and most of those she'd thought they were Feds. Jody smiled a little. "You're doing it. Keep an eye on the phone and the car—he's gotta check in at some point." She'd already confiscated Sam's phone, banged up but miraculously working. Even if Dean was off doing something on his own, she was sure he would stay in touch with Sam. It was hard to believe, but it'd only been less than eleven hours since the explosion.

 _"You gonna be at the hospital?"_

"Yeah, I'll stay with Sam. Someone should be there with him."

 _"Well, tell him I'm prayin' for him."_

One more thing they had in common: Donna had faith bred into her Minnesotan upbringing, while Jody had latched onto it in her adult grief, but they both talked to the same God. No matter what the Winchesters thought of Him, Jody believed what she believed, and they needed all the help they could get.

She locked up the bunker carefully and headed back to the hospital, alternating between prayer and wracking her brain to figure out how to find their missing Winchester.

00000

In the end, Dean found them.

Sam's phone rang early the next morning, rousing Jody out of a restless doze. She cast a quick glance at Sam—no change—then reached for the phone, barely daring to hope.

Dean.

"Thank God," she answered.

A beat. _"Jody?"_

"Dean. Where the Hell are you?" Too late she remembered that Hell was literally somewhere he'd once been.

 _"Just crossed into New Mexico, heading home. Where's Sam?"_

She took a breath. "In the hospital. Sam got caught in an explosion."

Dean swore. _"The bunker?"_

"No, some house in Lebanon. He was saving the homeowner."

 _"'Course he was,"_ Dean muttered. _"How bad is it?"_ And when Jody didn't immediately answer, he warned, _"Don't sugarcoat it, Jody."_

"It's…not good. But he's hanging in there. When can you get here?"

 _"Uh…"_ She could practically hear his brain racing, wished she could be there to make sure he didn't drive off the road in his distraction. _"'Bout ten hours on the road. I can see if there's an airport…"_

"Yeah, Sam told me about you and airplanes. Just drive through, Dean—I don't need both of you wrecked."

 _"Jody, if Sam needs me—"_

She _knew_ them, knew how much they meant to each other, but it still didn't stop her from being moved each time she glimpsed it anew. "He's tough, Dean, he'll be all right. A flight would only get you here an hour or two sooner, if that—it won't make a difference." She really, really hoped.

There was a pause, just the faint sound of the Impala's engine. _"Yeah, okay. I'll Earnhardt it and be there soon."_

"I didn't hear that," she said dryly.

 _"Hey, let me talk to Sam."_

Jody pursed her lips. "Okay, gimme a second." She took the phone and held it against Sam's ear. "You're on," she called.

She heard the murmur of his voice but didn't try to make out the words. In fact, she turned her head away, blinking hard.

When the buzz died down, she took the phone back, eyeing Sam, who remained unresponsive. "You good?"

Dean cleared his throat, and his voice sounded deeper. _"Yeah. You keep tellin' him I'm coming, okay?"_

"Okay. Keep me posted."

 _"Will do."_ A beat. _"Thanks, Jody."_

She could breathe a little better as she disconnected. Nothing had changed: Sam was still too motionless and pasty, and she was still alone with him. But Dean was on his way, on the case, and that made all the difference.

"All right, Sam," she said, slipping her hand back into his. "Dean'll be here soon. How 'bout you don't make a liar out of me and wait for him? Or, you know, if you wanted to wake up, I wouldn't mind some company."

But Sam slept on.

00000

She heard from Dean every hour after that, checking where he was on the map on her phone each time he called. He was making better time than she'd hoped, and she refused to think about how fast he had to be driving to get there. Apparently he'd already outraced one cop.

She learned he'd been in Arizona picking up something for his car from some obscure dealer. That there'd been no reception, out in the middle of the desert. That he'd spent the night there in his car, then headed back to civilization, only to find a dozen messages waiting on his phone. Sam had known where he was and how to reach him, of course, but that hadn't helped anything.

No, Dean wasn't going to let her stick a tracer on him—ha, ha, very funny—and Sam had already tried that once anyway.

She, in turn, filled him on the doctor's report, on how Sam looked and his unresponsiveness. She was a little more vague about the prognosis, but deep silence had followed her words. Then a quiet curse.

 _"I didn't wanna go. Not with everything going on, with the Mark and Rowena—"_

"Who?"

 _"Sam wanted me to go,"_ Dean went on, clearly talking more to himself than to her, or at least to some sort of invisible confessor. _"Said it would be 'good for me' to take a few days."_

"You had no way of knowing this would happen," Jody soothed. As a cop, she'd had to say those words many times before. "Sam wasn't hunting or out looking for trouble."

 _"Kid's a trouble magnet, always has been."_

"Right," Jody drawled. "Just Sam."

 _"Jody, he's…"_ Dean coughed. _"I can't…"_

"He'll be waiting when you get here, Dean. Just drive careful—I can't visit two hospitals in two states at the same time."

She was pretty sure Dean didn't hear her at all.

Alex called twice, once to see how the Winchesters were doing and once to say she was spending the night at a friend's. Which didn't worry Jody at _all_. And Donna called several times just because, which was actually comforting.

Then, during one of the interminable silences, Sam put his two cents in. Just not the way Jody had hoped.

The heartbeat monitor had picked up. Jody was just frowning at it when Sam's chest began heaving.

"I need some help in here!" she shouted toward the open curtain, and started pulling pillows out from behind Sam's back.

The nurse was quickly followed by a team swarming around the bed. They didn't appear worried, just worked together in swift choreography. No resuscitation paddles, thank God, and the heart monitor kept beeping, but they were throwing around drug names and readings and adding things to the IV. Jody prayed as she watched.

A different doctor finally came over to fill her in this time.

"He's stable again for now. Blood loss and smoke inhalation both put strain on the heart—Sam's body is trying to fight off shock. He just needed some extra help."

"So what does that mean?" Jody asked carefully.

"It means we treat symptoms until his body can take over. His heart and kidneys are showing signs of stress, we still haven't ruled out a respirator, and infection's trying to get a foothold. All we can do is make it easier on him and hope he can do the rest."

She noticed he still hadn't told her exactly what had gone wrong and what they'd done to fix it, but maybe she didn't want to know more than that. "Can I stay with him?" They were in the ICU and there were rules for visitors, but nobody had tried to enforce them. Which in itself told her a lot.

"Of course. It's still very possible he can hear you."

So Jody sat back in the chair, taking the hot, limp hand in her own, and continued to cajole and promise.

00000

"Jody."

The hoarse voice shot her up from her seat and toward the door. "Dean!" She hadn't expected him for at least another half-hour.

He hugged her hard, smelling of sweat and coffee. He always burrowed into her embraces a little, like a kid seeking a mom's comfort, and even though there was only a little more than a decade between them, she still felt protective and mom-like every single time.

Dean finally let her go and stepped around her, eyes on the bed as she knew they had been even over her shoulder. He reached, not for the hand Jody had just released, but the exposed forearm under the IV, giving it a swipe with his thumb before he cupped the back of Sam's neck. She'd wondered before if their dad had done that, too.

"Damn it, Sam," Dean whispered. His other hand moved across Sam's chest, taking in the bandages and damage. "Can't leave you alone for a minute, dude."

Jody blinked, astounded, as Sam finally reacted to that, making a small sound in his throat and breathing out a long sigh. It was the first change of any kind Jody had seen since his little _episode_ , and it made her heart jump.

Dean didn't seem surprised, though. "He knows when I'm here," he said over one shoulder.

"I'm gonna go…get us some sandwiches and coffee," Jody said a little unsteadily.

Dean didn't hear her anymore, focused wholly on his brother.

That was the way it should be, Jody thought, and left them to it, wiping her stubborn eyes all the way down to the cafeteria.

00000

"So…you came back from the dead? Again?" Jody asked lightly, because that was the only sane way to ask a question like that.

They were bookending Sam, Jody sitting on his far side, Dean's chair tucked up near his stomach. The older Winchester had his hands propped under his chin, but they frequently darted out to skim Sam's pulse point, his laboring ribs, the furrows that would dig in between his eyes. And darned if Sam's monitors wouldn't respond with slowed heart rhythms and a higher BP, small twitches smoothing out at big brother's touch. Jody was reminded again of Owen, when her stroking his hair and back had calmed his restless sleep, but she avoided the thought.

Sam refused to join the conversation, however, so she and Dean talked over him, the mundane moments of a crisis leading to unusual honesty.

Dean rubbed his hands over his face. He looked drawn and tired, and Jody was sure it wasn't just because of the last day. "Yeah. What'd Sam tell you?"

"That you, uh, were stabbed, by an angel?" She looked a question, pressing her lips together when he nodded. "Then your body disappeared. Next thing I know, you show up at my sheriffs convention."

Dean nodded distantly. Then he sighed and sat up, and started rolling up his right sleeve. "I disappeared 'cause of this."

She frowned at the red mark below the bend of his elbow. It looked almost like scar tissue, but it was some kind of symbol. No doubt ancient and powerful, if she knew her Winchesters. But she just gave him a look and skeptically asked, "Because of a tat?"

That made his mouth quirk, at least. "Not exactly. You know your Bible, Cain and Abel?"

"Of course, the first murder."

"And God put a mark on Cain to keep anyone from killing him. Mark just like this."

She was pretty sure her jaw dropped. Just when she thought they couldn't surprise her anymore…

He was already rolling his cuff down. "Brought me back to life as a demon. So, yeah, I kinda went off the rails for a while, but Sam tracked me down, cured me."

"Cured…you," she said slowly.

"It's a whole blood ritual thing." He waved a hand. "Believe me, you don't wanna know."

"Well, you got that right." Her brain was still reeling.

Sam exhaled a groan, big shoulders contracting.

Dean leaned forward and did something Jody couldn't see, didn't try to see, and Sam sighed and went still.

"I came after him with a hammer," Dean said quietly.

She flinched back. "Excuse me?"

"When I was a demon." Over the curve of Sam's hip, he met her eyes, guilt heavy in his own. "I tried to waste him."

"Well, it doesn't seem to have affected his trust in you," Jody deadpanned.

"That's 'cause he's a moron," Dean said with deep affection.

She didn't even begin to point out the pots-and-kettles of that statement. "But you still have that…Mark," she said instead.

He rubbed it through his shirt sleeve. "Yeah. And it's affecting me—I can feel it. Sam's got this idea we can get it off, but I dunno." He rubbed at his mouth. "Cain's had it for centuries."

Jody tried to picture that and failed. Centuries. Dean outliving his brother by eons. Turning into a demon through death, or even just over time. It was one of the most frightening things she'd heard since getting to know them.

She peered around Sam to see that Dean was wiping away drool from his little brother's mouth. He looked a little disgusted by his wet hand, but that didn't stop him from rubbing it dry on his jeans.

"You know he's gonna figure it out, right?" Off Dean's questioning look, she elaborated, "How to fix you. How to get rid of that Mark. You know that, right?"

Dean sat up wearily. "Jody, we don't even know—"

"And you know why I'm so sure?" She spoke with more certainty now, her sheriff voice.

Dean cocked his head.

"Because of…this." She motioned to Sam, to his brother sitting next to him. "How he knows you're here even when he's unconscious. How you broke every traffic law between Kansas and Arizona to get here. The way you went to Hell for him—yes, I know about that," she said as he started, "—and got his soul out of Hell and saved the world together more times than I even want to know."

Dean stared at her like Alex did when Jody caught her breaking curfew.

"But you know why I'm particularly sure?"

The kid—and darned if he didn't look like a kid right now—was holding his breath.

"Because no matter what, you two believe in each other. And belief is a powerful, powerful thing."

She left him then to get some more coffee and to chew on what she said without needing to answer her.

Jody would be there for support as long as she was able, but the rest would be up to them. And that thought didn't frighten her at all.

00000

Okay, them and their friend Castiel, who, oh yeah, turned out to be an _angel._

"So some angels are good and some are bad?" she whispered to Dean as they stood to one side, watching the guy— _angel_ —with the intense eyes examine Sam.

"Pretty much," Dean agreed quietly. "They've got free will, too."

"Huh." At least that jived with the Bible she read. She wasn't so sure about some of the other things the Winchesters believed.

Castiel turned back to them. "He will not recover completely from these injuries."

She was still getting used to his throaty, power-shaded voice, but his words stopped her dead. "What?"

Dean didn't seem as worried. "Cas," he stepped forward, "I know you haven't got a lot of mojo to spare, but…you think you could…?"

"Of course, Dean," the angel agreed without hesitation.

He was already moving back to the bed, but Dean caught his arm. "Not all the way, okay? I don't want you tapped out, and we can't raise any alarms here, not in our own backyard."

Castiel frowned a little like he wasn't sure he understood, but he inclined his head. Then he returned to the bed and put two of his fingers to Sam's forehead.

They _glowed._

Sam gave a sudden lurch like he was seizing again, and even as Jody stepped forward to do something, Dean's raised arm stopped her. She looked at him, mouth already open to protest, but saw the clench of his jaw: this wasn't easy for him, either. But he knew what was happening, and he was okay with it. And his was the only opinion Jody would let override her own as to Sam's well-being.

Sam settled back, still gasping like a beached fish, and Dean finally moved, striding around to the far side of the bed to yank pillows out from behind his back like Jody had done when Sam crashed earlier. But this time as Sam rolled supine, his eyes shot open.

Dean grabbed his arms even as they started flailing. "Hey, hey! Sam. Sammy. Look at me."

Sam wheezed again, and the ribs must've been among those _not all the way healed_ parts, because he choked out a moan on the exhale, involuntary tears of pain already gathering in his eyes.

"Sammy," Dean repeated, voice softening instead of rising at his brother's panic. He pushed forward, trapping Sam's hand against his body and freeing up his own hand to flatten against Sam's forehead. "Hey. Eyes on me."

Sam's blown-wide pupils shot over to him like they'd been caught by a magnet. Even as his chest bellowed, his expression shifted from fear to confusion. He grabbed at Dean like Jody's kid would reach for her after a nightmare.

"Easy, easy," Dean said, calm for the both of them. "Just breathe for a minute, okay? I know it hurts, but it's getting better, right?"

Sam stared at him for long seconds, breathing slowing, then finally dropped his head back to the pillow. His first attempt at speech was just a gargle of sound.

Dean answered. "You're at the hospital. Couldn't stay out of trouble one day, dude, had to go play the hero."

Sam was still clearly completely bewildered, but he wasn't panicking anymore, despite the flinches of pain and the way his hand continued to twist in Dean's shirt. He glanced past Dean now, at Jody just long enough for her to smile at him, lingering on the angel as he said, "Hello, Sam." Then back to Dean.

"Fire." He sounded like there was still smoke in his throat.

"I know. Electrical, dude—nothing weird." Jody paused to wonder how he knew that, and realized maybe she wasn't the only one he'd called on his drive back. "You saved an old geezer. Dude, you're like a boy scout." His hand had moved from Sam's forehead to his jaw, and Jody saw the moment Sam surrendered and sagged into his grip.

"Jerk," he muttered.

"Bitch," Dean lobbed back seemingly automatically, and Jody rolled her eyes. Boys.

Sam's eyes fluttered, fatigue catching up to adrenaline now that he wasn't freaking out anymore.

"Go get the doctor," Dean said in the same low voice, and Jody realized after a second he was talking to her.

She caught herself for a moment, out in the hallway, and took her own deep breath.

"Are you all right?"

The angel's voice, just behind her, made her jump. "Uh, yeah." She had trouble meeting his eyes. _Angel._ "I'll just, uh, find a doctor."

"His head injury is healed and the broken bones are mending. The rest will improve with time."

She'd never been one for the whole fluffy guardian angel thing; the angels she thought of from the Bible were the ones with flaming sword and terrifying presence. "That's…that's great," Jody said, and fled.

By the time she came back from the cafeteria an hour later, Sam and Dean were alone in the room, both of them passed out in bed and chair. She just smiled at them—her mom smile, if anyone would've been there to see—and tiptoed out to finally take the nurse up on that offer of a cot.

00000

Sam Smith had insurance, amazingly—there were some thing Jody figured she was better off not questioning—but even so, they signed Sam out the next day and took him home.

There was no quick route to his bedroom, but parking in the garage at least meant no stairs, and Jody had borrowed a wheelchair from the hospital. She was back to using her badge instead of her family connection.

Dean drove the Impala, then the wheelchair, teasing Sam about stupid things while Sam struggled to stay awake. Jody's only role was to watch as Dean transferred him to bed and tucked him in, stayed for the five seconds it took Sam to doze off, then led the way far more wearily to the kitchen.

He laid out Sam's medications in silence while Jody made coffee and found some eggs in the huge fridge. She fried up a half-dozen and toasted some bread as Dean sliced off his hospital bracelet with a Bowie knife, then, after a silent question, hers. He tossed them in the trash and went to retrieve the first cup of coffee, hot and black, before sinking down at the kitchen table.

She slid a plate in front of him, then took the seat across from him and dug into her own food. "I think the doctor wanted to write Sam up in some journal for his miraculous recovery."

Dean snorted tiredly. "Yeah, not the first time that's happened."

She never had conversations like this with anyone else in her life, but at least she could tell Donna

now. And Alex, an abbreviated version. She'd already talked to both of them that morning. Speaking of which, "Donna says hey, by the way."

His half-grin took years off. "You two are buddies now, huh?"

"Well, you know," she said, grinning back at him between bites. "It's easier if you can share it with someone."

His grin melted. "Yeah…"

Good job, Jody. She cleared her throat as she speared another hunk of egg. "A couple of your hunter friends have called, too. That Garth is a real character."

Dean's mouth curled again. "You have no idea."

Jody chewed thoughtfully, then put her fork down and reached across the table. Dean's hand, unlike his brother's, was cold under hers, chapped and scarred. "What I'm trying to say, in case you don't pick up on my subtle hints, is that you two aren't alone. I know Bobby's gone," both their grips contracted at that, "but you still have friends. And, Big Brother, you've got Sam. I've seen the guy beat _Time_ for you—he'll help you with this, too, if you'll let him."

"Not everything's fixable, Jody," Dean said quietly.

"Considering you stopped the _devil_ and saved the whole freaking world, Dean, I don't think one ugly scar is gonna stop you two."

Dean didn't answer. But he did start eating his eggs.

He had a few bites before his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then shoveled the rest of the food in as he climbed to his feet. "Sam needs to hit the head."

She hadn't even seen him set his brother's phone out for him. "Okay. You want me to fix him some eggs, too?"

"Maybe toast—his stomach's still rocky." Again, not something she'd known, even though she'd been in the hospital room most of the time Dean had.

He detoured to the refrigerator for a bottle of water, then paused at Jody's side on his way to the door. And dropped a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Thanks."

She patted his hand, and smiled to herself as he left the room.

Mark, explosions, and fallen angels notwithstanding, Jody was feeling good about their odds.

 **The End**


End file.
